


Caleb's Performance

by tremblingstockings



Category: Original Work
Genre: Desperation, Fantasy World, Male Desperation, Omorashi, Other, Wetting, classical time period, male wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 22:58:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16880859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tremblingstockings/pseuds/tremblingstockings
Summary: Caleb, a lyre-player from Meiyadd has a song to perform for the king, however, he gets increasingly desperate before he begins.





	Caleb's Performance

Meiyadd was a strong and flourishing kingdom far on a mountainside in Pliora, ruled powerfully by king Maceo and his elegant queen Halina. The kings court was a beautifully tall, pristine and pure appearing room, where performances were often held for the king by a group of young men or women who had learned different instruments trained to play classic melodies to please him, and could be aged anywhere between 14 to 30. 

One of these young musicians from a class of around 20 people, was Caleb. Caleb was a charming, tan, strawberry blond boy who had just turned 19. At 10 he was given a lyre from his father and it turned out that the bold young soul had a gift.   
Before having been given the lyre he was but a poor farmer, however a class had been offered to his parents to train the gifted child to be something elegant. His mother jumped on the opportunity and sent her talented son to play for the king like the other students. 

Now at 19, he had played for the king on a monthly basis and was training once more with another song. He groaned inwardly at the lack of free time and the lack of expression allowed in the classes. He was very individualistic, and falling out of line had no place there.   
He was only allowed to play what he was taught like the other students, and only the favored: the elite prodigies, were allowed to perform their own songs for the king. While Caleb may have had a gift, he wasn’t the most disciplined, and he fell out of favor with his strict instructor Lady Odelia quite often. 

One morning, he sat up on a hill in the garments he was to wear for his performance, and it was his turn to perform that day. He was very nervous, for he greatly admired the king and always yearned for his satisfaction. Class was going on that morning yet he wasn’t in the room nor was he practicing the song he was supposed to play. He was peacefully playing his own song, one he had thought of when remembering his duty to serve the king. 

The melody was alive, but calm, like a lion resting in the summer sun. It came from his heart. He paused his playing as Lady Odelia walked up the hillside looking none too happy with him. And it wasn’t the first time he’d done something like this. She had him stand as she grabbed his ear. 

“How long must you disobey me?” She scolded, frustrated and blushing from the hot sun. He winced. 

“You’re lucky you remain in this class! You keep getting out of line and that is not what I have trained you children to do! You’re almost a man now! And yet you still disobey me! Do you have any loyalty to your king?” 

“I do, Lady Odelia. I apologize.” 

But he wasn’t sorry, not truly. He yearned to play his own song for the king and it showed on his face every time he touched that lyre. 

She looked exasperated and worn when she also noticed what he was wearing.

“Your performance is tonight and you’re sitting in the dirty, bug-ridden grass in your performance clothes.” 

He looked down at the soft and healthy grass unconvinced of a problem.

She sighed, “Come, Caleb. You had better make your performance as good as your others have been.” 

Caleb nodded to that and followed her back to the rest of the class to practice the song that had been taught that week.

The morning of class passed and he stretched his callused hands, growing more numb to the feel of the lyres strings. He was a bit of a loner at meal time, and as he ate he stared out the window, thinking of his time on the hill and thinking what he would give to show his song to the king. He was reminded often to stay hydrated, and had a lot of water to drink from the early day and onward. However, he’d felt a pressure start to form in his lower abdomen and throughout the day he was pushed from location to location, forced to be stuck with his urgent need and show that his playing was perfect. Over time, the need to pee had grown immensely strong and he shifted uncomfortably as he practiced.

Lady Odelia was starting to lose her patience at his fumbling with the instrument, and she scolded him every time he shifted his legs or missed a note or groaned under his breath. It wasn’t the first time he’d needed to urinate before a performance. He’d been hungry, thirsty, or tired before a performance as well. He had still always pulled through for his king. However, this was the first time that he’d needed to pee so badly that he’d doubled over and gritted his teeth from the strong pressure between his legs and was scolded to stand upright while playing the lyre. He thought to say something, but there wasn’t time. All his free time was spent practicing and drinking water. It would have to wait until after the performance. He paced and looked to his instructor thinking to say something, when he felt himself leak a little bit.

He paused and when people weren’t looking he inspected the silky cloths around his legs. He was relieved to see the damage hadn’t shown, but considering his garments were white, any major slip ups involving his need to urinate would be disastrously obvious. 

He smoothed his garment out nervously, the nerves not helping the strong waves of pressure that coursed through his body, and he did his best to stay still while the other ladies of the court dressed his hair and wiped the sweat from his brow. They rubbed sweet smelling oils to his arms and neck and strapped his sandals to his feet. After that, they left and allowed him time to practice his playing if he desired. When he was finally alone behind the curtain that separated him from the court, he grabbed himself and winced. The pressure from his bladder was so strong that his legs shook. 

He set down his lyre and looked around wildly for something, anything, to pee in. He felt a few more strong spurts escape and every time his bladder let a bit loose the pressure grew even more intense and tears formed in his hazel eyes.   
He finally spotted a potted plant and he made his way to it, feeling like a helpless child as more warm spurts dampened his garment, staining the front of it yellow.   
He looked down and bit his lip at the sight of his clothing, and before the plant his slender legs buckled and his bladder couldn’t take it anymore. 

“No…” He said in a low whisper, lowering his shoulders.

He clenched his eyes shut in defeat, feeling the small tears in his lashes.   
Warm urine gushed out of him forcefully and spread across the front of him with faint hissing. It sent a chill up his spine, and the feeling of relief and adrenaline rushed through him as he stifled a groan. He then snapped back into focus and bunched all the silky cloths between his legs so as not to get urine on the floor. All the silky and shimmery white garments were getting saturated and darkened with his hot urine and pressed up against his thighs and manhood in his trembling hands. 

This could not have been happening. Caleb; a performer for the king himself, at 19 years old, was helplessly wetting himself from not being able to hold it. 

The stream took a while to die down and it still flowed down his legs and through his sandals, pattering on the shining floor, so he gave up and let go of the fabric. The fabric clung to his legs when it fell and he hung his head as he finished, with a racing heart and shaky breathing. 

His stared down at his soaked and stained garments. The material was now slightly see-through and it clung to his legs and member, and he now felt not only humiliated but naked. He grabbed his lyre with a heavy heart and headed toward the curtain at the call of his name, dreading what would follow. 

He opened the curtain and people were shocked by his appearance. As he walked, his legs were still shapely through the fabric, glistening and dripping with urine, and he stared to the ground. He then stopped in his place, turned to face the king, and was too ashamed to look up at him. A lump formed in his throat and his skin warmed and darkened to a pinker shade. As he stood, the warmth of the fresh urine started to cool and feel clammy and sticky against him. He didn’t speak. 

People spoke amongst each other about the boy, disgusted by his appearance and enraged that he would come before the king in such a fashion. The other lyre players whispered and snickered amongst each other. The only one without a reaction was the king, who only stared at the pitiful boy. 

Lady Odelia walked over to him and whispered to him “These clothes were so graciously given to you! And you urinated in them, like a filthy animal! Surely you know better. How did this happen?”  
He looked over to her but couldn’t say anything. 

When Queen Halina saw the court’s varied reactions she turned to King Maceo and whispered, “Do something.”

The king responded “I am doing something.”   
He then stood, holding up his hand, and the court went silent.   
“Lady Odelia.” 

She turned to speak properly to the king. “Yes, your majesty?” 

“Are you not responsible for this boy?” 

“Yes, I am, and I assure you he’ll do an excellent job playing, if you would will it.” 

“He is wet.” 

She stiffened and said, “Surely this is from mere incompetence… Or perhaps some sort of scheme against you.” 

“Then why,” he said to her with a stare as cold as ice, “does he weep?”

Sure enough, tears were gently rolling down the boy’s blushing face as he stared at the ground, stiffly holding the lyre. 

“Your majesty, I assure you, I-” 

He held up his hand.   
“I have no need for assurance. I’ve heard enough.” 

Lady Odelia gave a slight nod and returned to her original place in the room. 

“My performer,” King Maceo said in a calmer tone. 

Caleb stood straight and looked up to King Maceo. He quickly wiped his eyes and tried to maintain his composure. 

“You have a song for me. Play it.” 

He nodded and swallowed, surprised at still having the opportunity, then with shaky hands he prepared to play. He gave a few breaths to settle himself and then began plucking the strings and forming strong chords that gave a sense of peace and sincerity. He was one of the best of the lyre players, and he didn’t want his practice to go to waste. But just as soon as he began the practiced piece, he forgot the rest of it. 

Everything that he had learned for weeks and weeks had been forgotten in that very moment. His world froze and his fingers paused on the strings. He looked to the king helplessly, and the king simply gestured for him to play. He was reminded of the tune that he would play on his own that kept getting brushed away by his instructor. Though it was discouraged, he knew it like the back of his hand, for it was his own. It would have to do. 

He did his best to focus and he began playing again, feeling the melody from the hill come back to life under his fingertips. He didn’t dare look at the king and especially not to his instructor, who’s face had grown pale. He felt his dread and fear start to melt away as strummed on, filling the air with the sounds from his heart in humble dedication, finally able to continue the song that had been kept locked up in his mind like a bird in a cage. 

He eventually finished his final note and he felt his nerves start to come back. He had not only appeared before the king in soaked clothes, he had played the wrong tune. He questioned if he’d ever be able to perform for the king again. 

“You began to play a different melody,” the king stated, reminding Caleb of his disobedience. However, his tone was not harsh.

Caleb looked away from the king and saw the disappointment in his instructors eyes. He turned back to the king and bowed to him and looked down as he answered.

“I did, my king.” 

“What is it called?” 

“It doesn’t have a name.”

“Did you write it?” 

“Yes, my king,” he spoke softer, “inspired by you.” 

The king looked down to the boy, studying him and his humbly lowered posture.

“I enjoyed it. You’ve done an excellent performance, Caleb.” 

Caleb quickly stood and looked up to him, and his heart swelled with gratitude at the comment. It was the first time the king referred to him by name. It was very rare for the king to refer to any of his performers by name, especially for a positive comment. 

“Thank you.”

“I hope to see you perform for me again.”

He clutched his lyre close to him, smiling and he nodded “Yes, I will my king!” 

The king nodded and the boy remained standing, unsure of what to do next.

“Caleb.” 

“Yes?” 

“You are dismissed. Go and change your clothing.” 

“Y-yes my king!” He said, and quickly left the court. 

For the rest of the week, the only tune in Caleb’s head was the one he performed that day.   
Over time, it became one of the kings favorites.


End file.
